


Never Dared to Hope

by RelicIron



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Confessions, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Light Side Sith Warrior, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sith Pureblood, please don't you'll die, rating is for final chapter, take a shot every time Quinn says 'my lord'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RelicIron/pseuds/RelicIron
Summary: Ashal wasn’t sure he’d ever see his captain again, but when they finally reunite on Iokath, it dredges up feelings he’d hoped had flickered out. Not only were they still going strong after all this time, but it only get worse as he struggles to keep them secret while helping Quinn settle into the Alliance.
Relationships: Malavai Quinn/Male Sith Warrior
Comments: 32
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bioware really did us dirty when they brought Quinn back without making him bi (especially with the dialogue he has in that scene). So we’ll be happily ignoring that here.

10 minutes

10 minutes to try to sort out his thoughts from the maelstrom they’d become.

Iokath was a shitshow. He’d known that the moment Lana made contact with the both the Republic and the Empire. And now here they were.

He’d put his faith in Acina before, but now…

If she was willing to go behind his back for something like this, why would she stop? That’s what Sith DID. They pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable if they couldn’t move overtly. She would always come up with some justification to explain why she’d gone behind his back as she inched her way forward beneath his notice.

And of all people, he knew only too well the sort of backstabbing and madness that lay down that path.

So now there needed to be a decision.

Side with the Empire and return to his role of glorified attack dog.

Or join the Republic and face the sort of scrutiny and bias reserved for Sith traitors.

At least, this was the decision that _**should**_ have been weighing on his mind.

Instead, his thoughts had been in chaos since the moment he’d stepped into the room and sensed the presence of his old captain.

Quinn.

Stars, it had been nearly two years since he’d last seen the man, and nearly seven for Quinn. There was a touch of silver threaded through his hair near his temples, but other than that, he didn’t look a day older.

He’d barely listened to Lana, or the good captain Dorne. He’d only had eyes for his former captain.

“Quinn, is that you?”

He knew he was being foolish, that he was letting too much emotion bleed into his words, but as usual Quinn had the grace not to comment.

“In the flesh,” he said, succinct as always.

“I’d feared the worst, Quinn, how long has it been?”

And of course he then rattles off the exact time, down to the day. The man had always had a head for numbers, to a nearly disturbing degree at times, but the way he said it…

It’s as if he didn’t even need to think about it, as if the time was always there in the forefront of his mind.

As if he’d been counting the days until they finally met again.

Ashal gave himself a mental shake. He’d been down this road before.

Quinn wasn’t interested in him that way, and it was nothing short of maddening to realize that the torch he’d been carrying for the blasted man was still burning bright after all this time.

“I’ve missed your company a great deal my lord.”

Thrice-damned, bleeding _**bastard**_. How could he say something like that and not…

No.

Don’t go there.

Deep breath.

_Calm down before you start to scare Lana._

A quick glance at her shows its already too late, as she’s looking at him like he’s holding a thermal detonator.

Naturally, Captain Dorne felt this was the time to interrupt, and as jarring as it was, it thankfully dragged him out of the quagmire of confused emotions he was sinking into.

He’d heard all of the arguments, from both Malcolm and Acina, and Lana and Theron, and when he realized that the room had started to spin a bit, he’d managed to hold it together long enough to demand some time to consider his decision.

They’d given him 10 minutes.

The holodeck had gone dark and he’d sat himself down on the nearest available surface to try to regulate his racing heart.

He knew himself well enough to know that he was not going back to the Empire, no matter what they offered him. He’d climbed to the heights of power only to be chained to the Hand and the Dark Council. Used as the ultimate shock troop to put down all manner of rebellion and shred enemy lines. There’d been no pleasure in it, and the harder he’d pushed for reform, the more he found himself being shut out. He’d hoped that his place as the Wrath would give him greater freedom to affect change upon the Empire.

Instead he felt like an akk dog in a gilded cage, only released long enough to maul the Empire’s enemies before being shoved back inside.

The Republic’s distrust would be worth it if it meant he never had to return to that life.

Ashal slides off the chair he’d stolen and zeroes in on Quinn where he was standing by the window, well away from Dorne.

Once he reaches him, Ashal moves in close and lowers his voice, their conversation was not for others to hear.

“I’ve had Lana sending out feelers for you for nearly a year, what _happened_ , Quinn?”

Quinn turns his face away as something like shame colors his voice.

“After you disappeared, I spent months on the hunt. When I refused to end the search, I was sent to an Imperial prison. It was only shortly before Lorman’s ‘retirement’ that I was released and pardoned by Empress Acina.”

Ashal can see a muscle jump in his jaw as Quinn closes his eyes briefly and takes a slow careful breath.

“I valued our time together greatly, my lord, how could I have not done everything I could to find you?”

Warmth settles in Ashal’s chest, but it only makes the ache grow stronger.

“I missed you a great deal, Quinn. Truly.”

Quinn looks back to him and there’s something like relief on his face, but Ashal can’t let him speak. Not yet. Not until he knows just how far his captain was willing to follow him.

“Quinn… I’ve made my decision on who to side with.” It comes out hesitant. Ashal isn’t known for being timid, but right now there’s too much to lose.

“My lord…?” he asks, tone carefully neutral.

His eyes flick back up to Quinn and he steels himself.

“I know your heart lies with the Empire, Quinn, but I… I can’t prop them up any longer. Not anymore.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath and his lips thin, but he’s otherwise motionless.

“If you cannot bear to turn against them, I will help you leave here unaccosted, but whether you stay at my side or leave must be your decision.”

Quinn’s gritting his teeth behind his lips, and Ashal can hear the leather of his gloves creak as he balls them into fists.

_H_ _e’s going to leave_.

He tries to regulate his breathing as his heart starts a slow descent down through his stomach and into the floor below.

“My lord… please don’t do this…,” Quinn’s voice is thick with suppressed emotion, and he’s very near to shaking. It takes real effort not to reach out to try to comfort him.

Finally too overcome, Quinn hides his lips behind his fingers and turns to stare out the window.

That’s his answer then.

Ashal swallows passed the lump in his throat and turns to leave him be.

“Were it your decision, my lord, what would you have of me?”

He looks back to see Quinn still gazing into the gray mist outside the glass, as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

And for once, Ashal freely lets his feelings color his words.

“Were it my decision, I would never see you leave my side again.”

He thinks he sees Quinn shiver at that, He can only hope it wasn’t out of fear.

He drags himself back to the holodeck, Lana reconnects Acina and Malcolm, and Ashal officially cuts ties with the Empire. Malcolm looks honestly surprised, and Acina is livid, but he still only has eyes for Quinn, who’s approaching the table, stone-faced.

“Major Quinn, you have your orders.”

The moment seems to stretch into eternity, as Quinn reaches into a pocket on his jacket. He pulls out a detonator switch.

It feels like Ashal’s chest is being rent in two, like the encompassing burn of Arcann’s lightsaber through his gut on Asylum, but still his hand strays to his own saber and he braces himself.

But everything comes to a screeching halt, when Quinn simply lets it drop from his fingers onto the floor.

“Forgive me, my Empress, but I cannot follow those orders.”

Ashal doesn’t hear Acina’s snarled reply, and barely notices when she cuts the transmission.

Quinn leans forward and braces himself against the holodeck, letting his head hang in an uncharacteristic break of decorum.

Ashal is already starting towards him when Lana grabs him and forces him back into the conversation with Malcolm.

The Empire it attacking and the Republic needs help.

He promises to come to their aid, even as a far off explosion rocks the building, but it’s still just to end the meeting as quickly as possible.

“Commander, we don’t have much time,” she spares a glance at Quinn, “hurry.”

A nod is all she gets, then he’s striding passed her, and laying a careful hand on Quinn’s shoulder.

He gives a humorless, slightly hysterical laugh, “I trust you’ll still have me, my lord, as it seems I’m in need of a new job.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but it didn't make sense to group it with the next one, so it has to go it alone.  
> The next one will be longer.

Of course the whole blasted trip ends with the death of some ancient, unknowable machine and yet another dead emperor, or empress, as the case may be.

For having served as the Emperor’s Wrath, he has an impressive track record of killing Imperial leaders. He wonders if he’ll end up having to kill a third.

Likely, considering how ridiculous his life tends to be.

Malcolm is grateful for the help and less grateful that the weapon had been destroyed in the process. Honestly, though, if it hadn’t blown up, Ashal would have tried to do it himself. Having seen the data, he was uncomfortable with **anyone** having it, so as far as he was concerned this was the optimal outcome.

 _Well_ , he thinks as he sees Quinn sitting on the couch, shell shocked, _maybe not quite optimal_.

The man had been in no condition to fight, so Ashal had left him with Lana while he saw to things. And once that battle was won, they’d all returned to their ships and shuttles save for a token force left to occupy the landing zone and study the machinery.

The Fury had been waiting for them near the shuttle pad, and the familiarity seemed to draw Quinn in even through the fog of his emotional shut down.

Thankfully, one look at the man was all Vette and 2V needed to realize their interference was unwelcome and they’d both conveniently found things to do that took them out of the holodeck and cockpit.

Quinn had simply sat down on the couch and rested his head in his hands, and Ashal had no idea what to do.

What DO you do?

Quinn had gone through hell.

He’d been in prison for years, but he’d still been so loyal that when Acina had let him out and pardoned him, he’d been promoted to Major. Quinn had spent his entire life as a fervent believer in the Imperial ideology, and yet here he was, a newly-turned traitor to the cause he’d devoted decades to.

All because of Ashal.

And now terror grips him as he realizes what the future may look like.

Will Quinn hate him now? Or worse, will he just become the cold, obedient pawn who follows Ashal simply because there are no alternatives, resenting him the entire way?

He won’t leave. He _can’t_ really.

If he tries to return to the fold, the remaining council members will have him executed for treason, and he’s far to prideful to work for the cartel.

_Stars, what have I done…_

He swallows hard and forces himself to stop hovering.

There’s no way of telling what would be comforting to Quinn right now, but Ashal just can’t bring himself to leave him be, not like this. So he composes himself and joins him on the couch, about an arm’s length away. Not speaking, or acknowledging him in his moment of weakness.

Just… being there with him. For him.

It’s the best compromise he can think of, and he does his best to meditate while he waits for something to change.

Though nearly two hours later, he hasn’t managed a single minute of meditation, and his ass is starting to go to sleep, but he will. not. move. until Quinn resurfaces from his thoughts.

So it’s a surprise when he finally sits up with a sharp inhale as if waking from a dream and runs shaky fingers through his hair.

“My lord,” he rasps, grimacing a bit at the roughness of his voice.

“Quinn?”

“Apologies, my lord, I’m ashamed you had to see that… lapse in decorum.”

Ashal can’t help but laugh weakly.

“I’m fairly certain that ‘lapse’ was extremely understandable, given the circumstances,” he replies.

“Even so, it will not happen again, I am alright… I must be,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself, “There is no going back.”

Ashal’s throat goes tight, “Quinn… I’m so sor-”  
“No, my lord,” and there’s the fire he’d been so afraid he’d never see again, “Please do not apologize. As you said, it was my decision to make. I’ve made my choice, I must learn to live with it.”

His gaze softens a bit, “Although, I’ll admit I may need some assistance in this… transition.”

“Don’t worry about that Quinn, you have my support, whatever you need to make this easier.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The itty-bitty part at the end was too small to make it's own chapter, so it's getting tacked onto this one.

“You need to do something before someone kills that Major of yours.”

Theron is standing in front of him in the command center with a sour look on his face, and as much as it makes something dark and possessive inside curl in delight about Quinn being called ‘his’ major, he has to focus on the rest of that sentence.

“And why is that?” he asks.

“Because if I have to listen to one more lecture about ‘efficiency’ _I’m_ gonna kill him, and there’s a waiting list of other people with the same idea,” he growls.

Ah.

He’d been afraid of this.

Quinn had been with the Alliance for less than a month, and it while he had seemed to integrate well enough, the man could be difficult at the best of times.

And if he’s upset, the prickliness increases a 1000 fold.

Clearly he’s not settling in as well as Ashal had thought if he’s fallen back on nitpicking without caring about tact.

He sighs.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. And I’ll see about getting people to put down the pitchforks,” Theron replies with a snort.

Ashal chuckles as he gets up and puts down his datapad.

Best see to this now, before someone knifes the good Major.

It’s easy enough to sniff him out, both literally and through the Force. They may have spent years apart, but Ashal would never forget his scent or the feeling of his presence.

He’s in the laboratory, speaking with a visibly frustrated Dr. Oggurobb, and Ashal rushes to diffuse the situation.

“I simply don’t understand why you insist on using outdated equipment,” he says with a belatedly tacked on, “doctor.”

“Creation is not always about efficiency, Major, and there is something to be said about using the old and familiar to birth a new- ah, Commander, can I help you?”

There’s something like desperation in the hutt’s eyes, and Quinn is positively glowering behind him at having been ignored.

“I’ve come to speak to Major Quinn, as it were. May I borrow him for a bit?” He knows the answer to that question, but he’s trying to give the doctor a more graceful way out without ruffling Quinn’s feathers any further.

“Of course, of course, please don’t let me keep you, Major,” it’s a bit more hurried than it should be, but close enough.

“My lord,” Quinn acknowledges, side stepping Oggurobb to fall in step with Ashal.

They quickly leave the lab and Ashal turns toward his quarters.

It will be a bit to personal for Quinn’s sensibilities, but the privacy will be needed as a public confrontation will be far more upsetting to the man.

The door _whooshes_ open and Ashal sees him hesitate briefly before striding through, a carefully constructed mask slipping into place.

“You wished to speak with me, my lord?”

Ashal sighs.

He hadn’t actually though out what to say, he’d been more focused on hunting Quinn down to figure it out.

He’d just have to hope for the best.

“Quinn, I get the feeling you’re troubled. It’s understandable of course, but perhaps I can lend an ear?”

The mask hardens further and he wants to kick himself.

“I assure you, I am perfectly fine, my lord,” he says primly.

Ashal massages a hand over his forehead.

Of course, he was going to be difficult, when is he ever not, especially when it came to personal matters.

“It may have been a while, Quinn, but I know you,” he says tiredly, “I appreciate your efficiency, and have reaped the benefits often, but you normally have a little more tact when dealing with others.”

He looks affronted, so Ashal rushes to continue.

“I know you understand the need for team cohesion, and you badgering the others over minor problems is not helping things.”

He softens his voice.

“Quinn, I know how you are when you’re upset, please talk to me? I can’t help you if I don’t know precisely what’s wrong. The transition has been hard, I’m sure of that, but what part specifically? Is there any way I can make this easier?”

Quinn glares at him, or the closest thing to a glare that he allows himself to have when dealing with Ashal.

“My lord, you need not worry yourself over-”

“It’s too late for that, Quinn, I’m already worried. And I will **stay** worried until you tell me what’s wrong so I can help,” he puts steel into it this time, and he’s relieved when he sees cracks start to appear in Quinn’s stubbornness.

He never could go against a direct order.

“My lord, I… admit to having trouble with some of the people here. The Alliance is very different from the Empire, and the mix of former Imperials and Republic has been… difficult to adjust to,” he admits haltingly.

“How so?” Ashal pushes.

“The cohesion is more than I expected for former enemies, I’ve even seen Sith and Jedi training together in your Enclave. But I’m having trouble getting passed the notion that I am surrounded by traitors and adversaries,” he huffs, “And that I am the only one here who seems to _see_ that.”

“The people here have both shed blood and triumphed together, and that sort of bond isn’t easily broken no matter where they originated. The Empire and the Republic are different beasts certainly, but the men and women serving in the trenches are far more similar than we thought, and that commonality helps cement the Alliance further,” he says.

“My lord, _please_ -”

“Quinn, you and I have both seen the corruption in Imperial ranks. We’ve had to suffer through bad missions ordered by foolish people. And at the end of the day, the only ones we’ve been able to rely on are our friends and comrades,” he continues, “Do you not think that a Republic soldier does not deal with the same challenges? Their senators may preach that they are above the rot of corruption, but the common grunts know full well it exists, and they must struggle through, same as us. Do you think a Jedi bleeds any differently than a Sith?”

Quinn’s quiet, but Ashal isn’t sure whether he’s made an impact or if Quinn’s simply decided not to argue with him. So he tries for something more personal.

Even though it’s probably a bad idea.

“Quinn...” he hesitates, before stepping closer. The man tenses, but does not retreat.

“If you are nervous about the people under my command, I can assure you, should they harm you in any way they will find themselves with a lightsaber in their gut.”

He chuckles darkly, “And having felt that particular pain, I would not recommend it.”

Quinn’s head snaps up. His brows twitch down at the admission, but he seems to shake himself.

“You misunderstand, my lord, I do not fear for myself. I…,” he hesitates.

“I fear for _your_ safety.”

Ashal frowns in confusion, “Mine?”

“My lord, how can you trust that these people will not turn on you? I know your power intimately, but surely there are enough numbers here to overwhelm even you should they have a mind to,” and the worry in his voice is genuine.

The… care there, it makes hope bloom in his chest before he dutifully crushes it down.

It’s old hat, at this point.

“Do you trust me, Quinn?” he murmurs.

“Of course, my lord! With my life!”

“Then trust that I have chosen my allies well, and that I am strong enough to defend myself should the worst occur.”

It’s the best assurance he can offer while still being honest. Quinn is not the type to appreciate empty platitudes or sugar coating.

There will always be the looming threat of betrayal. Ashal has seen more than his fair share of it, and Quinn himself is an example. But he’d had the strength to put down Quinn’s attack, and he can see that exact memory play behind the man’s eyes.

“I… yes, my lord, of course. Just… know that if the worst should occur, that I will be at your side, till the end,” he says firmly.

Ashal shivers from the intensity.

Of that, he has no doubt.

He just wishes that it was more than the declaration of a loyal friend.

\--

The months pass, and with them, Theron’s betrayal and subsequent redemption.

He hates it when Quinn is right, as he so often is.

Surprisingly, he accepts Theron’s return with more grace than many others. Perhaps seeing a bit of himself and Ashal’s mercy in the situation.

But the scare of Ashal’s scrape with death on Umbara and Nathema, and the near destruction of Odessen seems to shift something in Quinn.

He seeks out Ashal more often, and stays at his side for longer periods of time. He all but demands to accompany him on missions. He even **stands** closer when they’re side by side in the command center.

It’s absolutely perplexing.

And it’s driving Ashal absolutely **mad**.

He didn’t know what he did in a past life to deserve having the man he’s pined over for years stick to his side like glue when he can do nothing about it.

And he _will_ do nothing about it.

After everything Quinn gave up to be here with him in the Alliance, he’s not about to muck it up and burden him with his feelings.

Besides, he’d gotten very good at bottling things up. This was just… something new to get used to. Once he adjusts to this behavior, he’ll calm down, and it will be just like it used to be.

Painful, yes, but by now he’s quite used to bearing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that part where Ashal doesn't know how to convince Quinn to chill was honestly me blanking on how to write the next part. So, same, man, same.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning for a panic attack here, and Ashal scratches himself up a bit during it.

The choice between allying with the Republic or Empire is looming closer every day, and Ashal desperately tries to lose himself in anything that can take his mind off it.

Naturally, as he often has in the past, he turns to his synthweaving.

The motions of the loom, the crystalline threads merging together, the cloth slowly taking shape, and the sweeping motions of scissors and machines stitching it together into something usable. It’s always been a mindless comfort with a satisfying conclusion, and it’s almost more pleasant for the familiar presence of Quinn behind him at the biochem station.

His nitpicking had died down significantly since their talk, enough that he was starting to cultivate friendships with people outside their original crew, but he’d still continued his hovering over Ashal.

Which is why he’d decided to brush up on his medicinal training when Ashal had begun clinging to the synthweaving machines.

He still had some trouble with how close Quinn was, beating back his own desires was an extra bit of tension he really didn’t need at the moment, but here it was soothing when his mind was occupied by the hum-clack of the loom.

They’d spent a quite few hours this way in the small crafting area of the laboratory, but it all came to a screeching halt when the cybertech equipment quite literally exploded in sparks.

He and Quinn are far enough away that they’re out of range, but the poor cybertechnician was fully in the line of fire and howled in pain, clutching their arm.

The air fills with a mixture of burn flesh and fried electronics.

He can’t breathe.

A cold sweat breaks out on his skin as his head begins to spin wildly and he struggles to stand on wobbling legs.

He needs to leave.

Now.

He must make some sort of noise, because between one breath and the next, Quinn has broken off from the small crowd of doctors and is at his side.

Ashal is shaking now, and his heart is threatening to beat out of his chest.

Go, _go_ , _**GO**_.

A single step away from the synthweaving machine nearly sends him to the floor when his legs buckle, and it’s only the sudden tight grip under his shoulders that keeps him from falling face first onto the ground.

“My lord! What-”

“Away, Quinn,” he breathes raggedly, “get… get me away, I need- anywhere, but here, _please_.”

He chokes on air and his teeth are nearly chattering, but the grip shifts until his weight is supported and he’s hustled out of the room.

The hallway passes in a blur, but the heat in his chest is growing worse and his breath is coming in short desperate pants.

He doesn’t notice the door or his room.

There’s only the sharp scent of burning circuitry and the sickly sweet of burnt skin.

It’s a fight not to vomit as his gut turns itself in knots, but it’s getting easier to ignore as the heat turns to burning and he starts to claw at his chest.

Fabric tears under his sharp nails.

“My lord, stop! You’ll injure yourself!”

Who…?

He can’t finish the thought, the blade beneath his ribs twists sharply and he can still hear HK’s chassis sparking somewhere behind him in the gloom of the control tower.

_Feel THAT, Father?!_

A breath wheezes out of him as he slips off the lightsaber and his knees hit the durasteel deck.

“MY LORD!”

Boiled blood and charred flesh overpowers the scent of melted droid and somehow the burning gets _worse_.

Strong hands grip his wrists and force them away from the smoking crater and he thrashes. Too panicked to focus the Force into something useful so sparks crawl over his skin, the desperate defense of a dying animal.

There’s a sharp, inhaled breath from somewhere above him and the fingers twitch involuntarily.

“ASHAL!!”

Arcann didn’t say his name.

He doesn’t have a prim Kass accent.

The world begins to slow around him.

“My lor- Ashal… I need you to focus on my breathing and match it, can you do that?”

One of his wrists is tugged in to press his hand flat against something warm.

He can feel a heart beating rabbit fast under his palm, but the chest rises and falls in a slow deliberate motion.

Yes. Yes, he can do that.

Little by little he slows his breathing down. Ugly choking sounds relax into hiccuping shudders, then to easy breaths with only the faintest wheeze from his overtaxed lungs.

Where ever he is, it’s dimly lit, and he’s laying on something soft that smells like him.

There’s movement to his left and he’s reminded of the hands wrapped around his wrists. Grip softened now that he’s calmed down.

The heartbeat has slowed too, but it’s still too fast, and he flexes his fingers over it.

He can smell something else in the air, beside his own fading panic. Something faintly medicinal, mixed with gun oil and soap.

_Quinn._

Muscles tense as everything finally comes into focus.

He’s curled in a ball on his bed, still shaking faintly as the last dregs of fear run their course. Quinn is there at his side halfway sitting on the edge with his hand still trapping Ashal’s fingers against his breast while the other has started rubbing uneasily back and forth across the bones of his wrist.

Ashal’s nails feel sticky, and he finally notices the stinging pain in his middle.

Quinn lets him go the moment he tugs at his hands, and he quickly moves back so Ashal can sit up.

His hair has come down out of the low bun he keeps it in while weaving, and it falls around his face as he inspects the damage.

Predictably, he’s shredded his casual robes and Quinn might not be able to see it in the gloom, but pureblood night vision can pick out the color of his own skin through the holes, and there are concerning smears of black there. A brief, exploratory prod pulls a hiss through his teeth.

Lovely.

“My lord… Ashal?”

The shiver that passes down his spine at hearing Quinn say his name, his REAL name, is honestly pathetic.

“I’m here, Quinn,” he rasps.

A sigh prompts him to look up.

Quinn looks surprisingly rough.

His hair and uniform are thoroughly mussed and he seems a good shade paler than normal.

Which should be impressive, considering his normally ghostly pallor, but here it’s just concerning.

“Are you alright, Quinn?”

He scoffs, “I’m fairly certain I’m not the one we should be worrying about presently, my lord.”

Ordinarily he’d fight that but he’s far to tired to bother now.

It would help if they _both_ could see properly.

A quick tug through the Force has the lights brightening above them. Quinn blinks rapidly and Ashal squints in discomfort.

If Quinn had questions he’d answer them, but for now he should get a good look at his abdomen and see if he’d ruined the waist of his leggings as well.

Naturally the moment he stands, Quinn jumps up as well and trails after him as he makes for the refresher. There’s an awkward pause as he lingers near the door, clearly unsure if Ashal wants privacy, but when the door stays open he seems to decide on staying.

Only a few catches survived the mauling from his claws, so it’s easy enough to undo them and let the tattered cloth slip to the floor. Beneath is a skin tight undershirt, and like the outer robes, they’re a lost cause. There’s no point in bothering to take it off properly and pull at his scratches, so he just grabs a pair of scissors and cuts it off.

It’s been a while since he’d last had an incident like this, but Quinn’s interference has had a clear benefit. The bloody black gouges he’d dug into his skin are not nearly as numerous as previous occasions, if he’s lucky the kolto cream and some bandages will be enough and he won’t have to make an embarrassing trip to the med center.

“My lord...”

Quinn is still hovering at the door, and his eyes are so fixed on Ashal’s skin it makes him shiver.

 _You’re wounded, you fool, he’s looking at THAT_.

“I’d be happy to see to those, if you’d allow it,” he offers, but he still doesn’t look away from the scratches.

Quinn’s hands on his bare skin had been maddening in the old days, and he doubts it will be any different now, but the man IS a trained medic, and would probably do a better job of it then Ashal.

“Of course,” he replies, stepping back further into the ‘fresher to make room, “There’s a kit under the sink.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Quinn’s movements are quick and methodical now that the situation is more familiar. Fetch the kit, pluck out the appropriate supplies, wash his hands and dab away some of the smeared blood to better assess the wounds.

Ashal grits his teeth as Quinn cleans them, both from the sharp sting of the disinfectant and for the warm hand anchored just above his hip.

It’s a situation they’ve been in countless times. Ashal gets hurt, Quinn patches him up. And it might have been comforting, if it weren’t for the oppressive silence between them.

Quinn had just gotten an eyeful of Ashal at his most vulnerable, and it was clear that he was formulating and second guessing questions as he worked.

“Ask, Quinn, before your head explodes,” Ashal huffs as he secures the last of the dressings.

Dark blue eyes look up at him, startled, before he dips his head.

“I wasn’t certain questions would be welcome, my lord.”

Perhaps from anyone else, they wouldn’t be, but this was Quinn.

“It’s fine, Quinn, just ask,” he assures.

“Very well, may I ask what brought this on? So that I may assist you in avoiding it in the future,” he asks.

_Trust Quinn to pick the most helpful one first._

“Burning electronics and skin. Together. I get the feeling it needs to be a certain ratio, as sometimes it triggers an attack, and sometimes it doesn’t.”

From the look on his face, he clearly hadn’t been expecting such a thorough answer.

“I assume that means that it’s happened before?”

“You assume correctly.”

“May I ask, and please feel free to ignore the question if you choose, why is it that smell in particular? Does...” he glances down at Ashal’s bandaged middle and he knows exactly what Quinn is looking at, “Does it have anything to do with that rather large scar?”

He sighs and slips passed Quinn, back into the main room, “It does, yes.”

Sitting back down on the bed gives him another moment to gather his thoughts before he motions for Quinn to sit.

“It was a few weeks after Lana rescued me from the carbonite. We spent that time getting the Gravestone air-born and space worthy for the most part, and we’d taken it to the port Asylum.”

Quinn nods, “I’ve heard of the place, but never seen it myself.”

“The Gravestone was docked there for nearly two weeks for repairs, and we kept ourselves busy, but thanks to some rather foolish men, Arcann and his forces were made aware of the port’s location and our presence there.”

“It came down to a fight between he and I,” Ashal drags his fingers along the upper edge of the scar that swallowed a large portion of his torso. There wasn’t much left of it, save a ridge where the paler skin grafts met his original red hide. Even his natural ridges had started to appear in the new tissue, and the doctors said in about a year, there’d be little left but a faint texture difference and the memory.

“The battle went… poorly.”

Quinn’s eyes are wide with shock, and something else he can’t identify.

“I had an HK unit at my side, and he took a blow that would have killed me. The burning electronics were his. And barely a minute later, Arcann ran me through. The burnt flesh.”

Just saying the words made his throat go tight.

“My lord, I… you,” Quinn bows his head and grips his knees until his knuckles turn white, “you have my **deepest** apologies!”

The ridges of Ashal’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline.

“Apologies? What-”

“If I hadn’t been fussing over the new additions to the Fury’s shielding I would have been able to go with you onto Darth Marr’s flagship, I would have been in my rightful place at your side and I might’ve spared you from such a grievous wound!”

It all comes out in a rush and Ashal gets the feeling that this has been brewing for a while. His panic attack had simply been the last straw.

“Quinn… assuming we were still somehow together by the battle on Asylum, you would have likely died in the attack,” he replies slowly, “And it’s certainly not your fault.”

“Perhaps I would have died, but it would have been worth it to let you escape in one piece!”

And **that** was too far.

His fingers are digging in to Quinn’s uniform jacket before Ashal even realizes he’s moved, curling tight around his upper arms as the tips of his claws press into the fabric in warning.

“Watching you **die** is NOT something I could walk away from!!!” he snarls.

Quinn’s eyes go wide in surprise and he **knows** he’s scared him, but he just...

He sags forward and hangs his head, ignores the stinging at his waist.

“I just... can’t, Quinn, please… don’t ever suggest that again,” Ashal mutters softly.

“I… as you wish… my lord,” he says in a weak voice.

He wants to reach out, wants to gather this frustrating fool of a man into his arms and hold him tight, wants to **make** him understand just how much it would break him to see Quinn be cut down.

He **wants** , but he _**can’t**_.

He swallows hard.

_Straighten up, you DAMN fool._

The command sounds suspiciously like his father, and it’s enough to force him up and click his sense back into place. He clears his throat.

“I’m alright now, Quinn. Just a few lingering issues in my mind, nothing time won’t heal.”

Perhaps if he says it enough, he’ll believe it.

Because from the look on his face, Quinn certainly doesn’t.

But either the Force or some higher power must finally take pity on him because Quinn doesn’t push further.

_You **frightened** him you idiot, of course he’s not going to push right now._

His fingers thread through his hair as he combs it back from his face. After the attack, the injuries, and his emotional outburst, he feels raw and exhausted. Certainly not fit for company.

“If it’s all the same to you, Quinn, I think I’d like to be alone now. But,” and he makes sure to catch his gaze, “thank you... for extricating me from the lab. It wouldn’t do for the Alliance to see it’s commander fall apart.”

He looks like he wants to say something, lips pressed together in a line before he seems to forcibly smooth out his face.

“Of course, my lord. I would not want you to endure their staring either. Especially during such a delicate moment. I am pleased to have helped,” he says, prim and proper again, but still softer than normal.

He nods tiredly as Quinn gets up. Dipping his head in a quick bow before leaving Ashal be.

As soon as the door closes behind him, the Force locks it in place and a sigh shivers out of him as he flops back onto the bed.

He thought things would’ve been getting better with his foolish infatuation with Quinn, but it’s not.

It’s getting worse.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, guys, second to last chapter. It's short, but it just didn't seem right to lump it in with the one before or after it.

It’s maybe four or five days later and the gouges he’d clawed across his stomach have healed nicely.

Quinn had insisted on seeing to that personally, and the attention had been both wonderful and upsetting in equal parts.

Now they were out on a mission to put down a small cell of Vinn Atrius’ group that either hadn’t gotten the message that their leader was dead or wanted to carry on the fight anyways.

In the end it didn’t matter.

Ashal had approached them with a peaceful offer: surrender your weapons and supplies and you’d be allowed to leave.

Instead they’d chosen to go out swinging.

Unfortunately, someone had dropped the ball and failed to warn Ashal of the **giant battle droid** these lunatics had at their disposal.

So now he was desperately hacking away at the thrice-damned machine as he tried to keep it’s attention off Quinn, who was doing his best to provide support from afar.

All it took was one rocket in his captain’s general direction to divert Ashal’s focus before a massive claw swiped his legs out from under him and the chassis came down in an attempt to crush him beneath it’s bulk.

He’d managed to roll to the other side at the last minute, his cape even got caught and ripped from his shoulders in the close call, but the droid’s new position closer to the ground finally gave him the opportunity he’d needed to sink his saber into it’s central processor.

The whole thing screeched as plates literally blew off it’s body, before finally, _FINALLY_ , falling silent.

He backed away out of range to take a moment to breathe, still watching the smoking wreck from the corner of his eye.

Wouldn’t do to let down his guard just yet. He’d seen droids play dead before.

But it was hard to argue with it’s dead-ness when it caught fire.

It wasn’t large enough to worry about, and other than the ugly blue smoke pouring out, it might’ve been rather cozy.

“My lord? MY LORD?!”

_Ah, there he is._

Ashal groaned as he straightened back up.

_Stars,_ _I_ _might need to see a doctor about_ _my_ _knees at this rate_.

He was heading towards his late-30s but the last decade or so hadn’t been kind on them.

Quinn met him halfway when they both rounded the side of the wreck that wasn’t choked in fumes, and the look of open relief that broke across his face startled Ashal.

Surely he’d seen him in worse scrapes than this?

He’d been about to tease him a little for worrying before Quinn, face still twisted in fading panic, marched straight up to him, grabbed him by the face, and hauled him in to mash their lips together.

The entire world came to a screeching halt.

It is inelegant, their teeth clack uncomfortably, and the tip of one of Ashal’s pointed teeth likely nicks Quinn’s lip.

But it thoroughly stuns him all the same.

So much so that he simply stands there like an imbecile with his hands hovering in the air in surprise.

With his frozen lack of reciprocation, Quinn pulls back. Wide eyed and mortified.

He lets go of Ashal like he’d been burned and takes a stiff step back, raising a shaking hand to his mouth.

“I… that… that was… **incredibly** out of line, my lord. You have my deepest apologi-”

Ashal doesn’t let him finish that sentence.

He sweeps Quinn into another kiss, though it’s hardly any more coordinated.

Forgivable perhaps, considering how desperate he is to correct Quinn’s assumption.

There’s a brief moment of stiff surprise, before he positively _melts_ into Ashal’s grasp with a pained noise.

They both shift into better positions. Gentling their lips and finding a better angle. Quinn’s fingers thread into his hair and grip faintly, trapping him there. His own hands slipping around the other man’s back and holding him tight.

He tastes blood when he sweeps his tongue across Quinn’s lip and it pulls a groan from him.

Definitely cut it on his teeth earlier, then.

Though from the tightened hold in his hair, he certainly doesn’t seem to mind it.

They have to part eventually, though they don’t go far. Ashal presses his face into Quinn’s neck and pants as the world spins around him.

Surely this wasn’t real.

The droid must have released some sort of hallucinogen into the air, or perhaps he HAD been crushed and this was some pathetic fantasy his dying brain cooked up as a nice send off.

But the body in his arms was very warm, very real, and he could feel Quinn’s pulse thundering against his cheek.

“Am I to believe you have some… amorous feelings for me, Quinn?” he asks unsteadily.

Quinn’s own voice is shaky when he replies, “I rather thought that was obvious, my lord.”

He chokes a laugh, “Until just this moment? No, no it wasn’t.”

Quinn turns his head and presses his cheek against Ashal’s hair.

“Then perhaps I should show you when we get back,” he replies.

It sends a shiver down his spine.

“Although,” and he can almost hear the grimace in Quinn’s voice as his hand comes away from Ashal’s tousled locks with soot smearing his fingers, “maybe AFTER getting cleaned up a bit.”

He can’t help the chuckle that rumbles out into Quinn’s shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I need to quit messing with this so here you go, they both admit to being absolute pining idiots and then smut time.

Ashal is brushing out his still damp hair, wrapped in the soft, comforting cloth of one of his more worn sets of robes. The ones he generally wore in the privacy of his rooms until it was late enough to undress and go to bed.

He was tired from a day of hard battle and even harder emotional realizations.

He and Quinn had sat close on the way back, thighs brushing together, which for a man like Quinn might well be the equivalent of sitting in Ashal’s lap.

They didn’t have the privacy needed in that shuttle to discuss the things they’d learned about one another next to that burning droid, so they’d settled for quiet company and a lingering look as they went their separate ways back on Odessen.

“ _Then perhaps I should show you when we get back.”_

It still sends a thrill through him when he remembers how dark that lovely Kaas accent had gone.

Ashal had been held up in an agonizingly long debrief before Lana had all but dragged him to the med center to be checked out. He’d only managed to escape about an hour ago, and had immediately holed himself up in his quarters for a long, hot shower.

Now clean and comfortable, nerves that he would never verbally admit to were creeping back in.

 _Did Quinn truly mean that?_ he thought as he spun the comb idly through his fingers. _Is he having second thoughts?_

It was a good 15 minutes more of fretting before he heard a knock at the door and hurriedly opened it. Finding the man in question standing stiffly outside.

“My lord, may I… may I come in?”

_Stars, he sounds so unsure. Is he about to apologize and call whatever this is off?_

Ashal wasn’t sure his heart could take it if that were true.

“Of course, Quinn,” he says, trying for calm and easy, but likely failing.

Quinn enters the room and stops near the couch, but doesn’t sit. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to fidget but is trying to hold himself still.

Ashal swallows hard and braces himself.

“My lord, I… do hope that I wasn’t too… forward earlier.”

That… wasn’t what he expected to hear.

“Forward?”

Quinn huffs, “I DID kiss you without warning and I alluded to certain… intentions I had, I simply wish to make sure that such advances are truly welcome, my lord.”

It only occurs to Ashal then, that while he HAD kissed Quinn back, he hadn’t confirmed his interest beyond that and he wants to kick himself.

“Believe me, Quinn, your advances are **extremely** welcome,” he assures him and bites back a smile at the blush that rises in his pale cheeks.

“I had hoped so, but you are not always the easiest man to read, my lord,” Quinn admits, “I certainly didn’t want to be ascribing my own desires to you.”

It seemed Ashal did an even better job at hiding his feelings than he’d thought, almost to his detriment. Or Quinn had a blind spot in his vaunted perceptiveness sitting squarely in the ‘romantic interest’ area.

Honestly, it was likely a bit of both.

He laughs softly, “And here I’d thought I was getting better at keeping things quiet.”

“My lord?”

Now **he’s** the one trying not to fidget.

“I’ve been rather enamored with you for quite some time, I simply hadn’t thought you’d ever be interested,” he murmurs self-consciously.

Quinn frowns and _of_ _course_ he’s not just going to let that go.

“How long?”

At this point the black blood flushing his cheeks is probably turning them wine colored.

He considers lying briefly, before discarding the thought.

“Since… the Imperial offensive on Taris, I believe? That was the first inkling at least, but I’m certain I was gone by the assault on Tython, before all that Revan business.”

Quinn’s jaw drops.

“My lord, that… you’ve… Tython was _eight years ago_!”

Ashal shifts awkwardly, “Well more like three for me, Quinn, but yes, it’s been quite a while.”

He can’t help but chuckle to cover the discomfort, “So you can imagine my distress when Lana pulled me from the carbonite and you were nowhere to be found.”

When Quinn continues to look at him in shock he sighs.

“I was rather certain you would never be interested, and I’d accepted that. My people… we are rather well known for simply taking things we want with no regard for others and I would never… I could never put you in that position. I only wanted this if you wanted me in return, never because you felt… felt obligated,” the very idea made him sick.

Quinn finally seems to gather himself again, taking a sharp breath before pinning him with a determined look.

“I like to think I would have never let my duty to serve you be taken quite **that** far. But as to the former statement, you may have been right, at least at the time,” he admits.

“You were my lord then, perhaps a friend, but nothing more. It wasn’t… it wasn’t until my incarceration that I even considered there might be something else there, but it didn’t come to fruition until that Zildrog mess,” he said quietly.

“Nearly losing you made me… reassess things, I suppose. Led me to come to new conclusions.”

Ashal could see a muscle jump in his jaw as he grit his teeth.

“And then I saw you after that incident with the cybertech machine, and… I hadn’t realized how much you suffered in my absence, how much you _continued_ to suffer without anyone’s notice. I never believed you would return my affections, but… I decided to make it my business to lift some of your burden. To protect you to the best of my abilities so that you’d never have to endure such trauma again. So when I though the droid had killed you...”

He can’t help himself so he crosses the distance to cup Quinn’s jaw and brush his thumb across his cheek. Dark blue eyes fix on him.

“I would do anything to keep you safe, my lord.”

Ashal takes a shaky breath and leans in, shivering when Quinn meets him halfway and buries his fingers in his hair.

Another hand finds his waist and he’s slowly backed towards his bed one step at a time until his knees meet the edge and he pulls Quinn down with him.

His mouth is hot and demanding, more so than Ashal would have thought, and it sends liquid heat down his spine. There is no question that Quinn wants to be here with him, that he’s not acting under fear of reprisal from his lord, and he shudders when the man sinks his teeth into his bottom lip.

They move farther onto the bed and Quinn starts nipping over the spurs lining his jaw and down the ridges of his neck, leaving shivers in his wake as Ashal begins working his jacket off.

Because _of course_ the fool man had shown up in his usual, full attire despite his hair still being slightly damp from a shower and knowing full well where the evening might be heading.

He sucks a breath through his teeth and one of the clasps slip from his fingers when Quinn bites down above his collarbone. A growl rumbles out of him.

“Either you take the damn jacket off, or I’ll rip it off myself.”

Quinn has the gall to chuckle against his throat before doing as he asks, sitting up where he’s slotted himself between Ashal’s thighs and quickly slipping it off. He even takes the initiative and removes his shirt as well, leaving Ashal to admire the soft skin and toned muscle on display.

There are scars there too, some he recognizes and some he doesn’t but their stories could wait for another day. For now he’s all too happy to run his hands down Quinn’s sides and watch the lovely flush sitting high on this cheeks.

His own upper robes were simple enough to untie and shrug off, and as it was only for comfort, he hadn’t been wearing an undershirt beneath them.

Despite seeing him in a similar state of undress barely a week ago, Quinn still seems enraptured by the sight of him. Fingers trace the spurs on his collarbones and the ridges on his shoulders and chest, and he shivers under the exploration before tugging him back down and into another kiss.

Their tongues slide together and he can’t help the low moan Quinn pulls from him before he notices the hesitation that’s beginning to slow his movements. There’s want pouring off him in waves through the Force, but it’s undercut by nervousness.

“Quinn?” he asks breathlessly.

He huffs a self-conscious laugh, “I’m a little out of my depth, my lord. Until now my experience has been limited to women, I’m afraid.”

It’s a valid worry, but he’s relieved all the same. Still too frightened Quinn will suddenly leave.

“One: I’m fairly certain you can call me Ashal, given the circumstances. And two: It’s not so different as you might imagine,” he smirks, “I assume you know what to do with _yourself_ when you’re alone?”

Quinn snorts and he chuckles.

“Then you know how things work here. We can leave the more complicated activities for another day, assuming you’d be interested?”

He huffs and presses Ashal back down onto the bed.

“Very much so, yes, but for now...”

Ashal shudders beneath him as Quinn drags his nails down his chest, before he’s dipping down and slotting their lips together again with a pleased hum.

 _His skin really is soft,_ Ashal thinks to himself as he traces muscle with his fingers, _I’m fairly certain it should be illegal_.

He’s so caught up in everything that he doesn’t even notice until Quinn is undoing his pants and slipping a hand inside.

The fingers curling around his length pull a ragged gasp from his lips and he fights the urge to dig his claws in when Quinn starts to stroke.

There’s an irritable huff and Quinn pauses to pull the offending clothes off entirely, before he’s shuffling closer, forcing Ashal’s thighs to accommodate him and wrap around his waist.

Quinn cocks his head curiously and Ashal feels a thumb run along the underside as he no doubt notices that, yes, there are ridges there too, but he’s moving again before Ashal can make a smart comment and the feeling of it drives everything else from his mind.

It’s far better than a damned handjob _should_ be, but with Quinn bowed over him, teeth at his neck, hand sliding wetly over his cock, he comes much sooner than he’d like.

It takes a moment to remember how to breathe. To pull his claws out from where they’d popped through his comforter and untangle his fingers from Quinn’s hair.

His eyes are near black as he pants above Ashal, seemingly too focused on him to even consider taking himself in hand. The poor man hadn’t even taken off his pants, and the line of his cock is prominent where it strains against the cloth.

Lips curve into a breathless, jagged grin and it only takes a brief application of the Force to roll Quinn beneath him and settle across his thighs. The mess on his stomach could be addressed later, he has more important things to worry about now.

Like finally indulging in something he’s wanted to do for a **very** long time.

He swats Quinn’s hands aside when they try to help with his belt and pants. Pulling them off and tossing them aside before crawling back up and kissing him hard.

Quinn seems very interested in his hair, and Ashal purrs when his fingers tangle there and grip.

It’s enough to make him wonder if Quinn’s been entertaining some _thoughts_ about pulling it.

He chuckles before starting the slow journey down, pressing open-mouthed kisses and careful bites along the way and reveling in the soft breathless noises he hears.

A sharp inhale marks when Quinn realizes his intentions.

“My lo- _Ashal_ , you do not need to-!”

“Oh no, Quinn, I **very** much believe I do,” he purrs, dragging his teeth just under this navel and delighting the way the muscles there jump. He settles further down and brushes kisses over the sharp points of his hips.

It seems he doesn’t need any more convincing as he only adjusts his grip in Ashal’s hair and props himself up on his elbow to see better.

His blush has deepened and spread down to his chest where it makes the scattering of moles stand out further and Quinn’s hair is a chaotic mess.

_Stars, this man is beautiful…_

Ashal holds his gaze as he gives him a long slow lick along the underside of his cock, circles the tip, then sucks him into his mouth proper. It’s been a very, very long time since he’s done this, but Quinn certainly doesn’t look like he’s complaining.

His mouth falls open on a wordless moan, eyes squeezing shut briefly from the intensity, before he forces them back open again. He’s doing an admirable job of holding still, but Ashal grabs his hips and presses them down into the bed anyways. Better the extra precaution than Quinn forget himself and run afoul of Ashal’s pointed teeth.

He twists a bit, partially collapsing back onto the bed and presses his lips together to stifle the noises he’s making. Noises Ashal would prefer to hear, but is willing to let go for now in the interest of driving Quinn over the edge.

He can feel the fingers in his hair tighten into a death grip and he takes him as deep as he can, hollowing his cheeks and _sucking,_ and Quinn comes with a harsh, strangled sound. Almost doubling over on the bed as he quakes and his cock pulses against Ashal’s tongue.

It’s only when Quinn falls bonelessly back onto the bed that he pulls off, pressing a few soothing kisses to his inner thigh before getting up and padding into the fresher to clean himself off.

When he returns Quinn is sitting up on the edge of the bed watching him with an air of uncertainty.

“I do hope you’re not thinking of leaving,” he says.

Quinn blushes furiously at his hoarse voice, but seems to relax a bit.

Ah.

So he’d been worried that Ashal would send him away, then.

He steps in close and dips down into a slow kiss as he strokes his thumb over the skin beneath Quinn’s jaw.

The soft look in his eyes when Ashal pulls away is… stars, it’s _everything_ , and he leans his forehead helplessly against Quinn’s.

“After everything that’s happened today, I think we both deserve some rest. Care to stay with me?” he murmurs.

Quinn smiles and brushes a long lock of hair behind Ashal’s pointed ear.

“Yes,” he says with a soft smile, “Always.”


End file.
